


Gold and Sapphire

by Author_of_evil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brienne's brother is alive, F/M, Friends to Lovers, My ADHD writing style, POV Jaime Lannister, Shy!brienne, Slow Burn, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_evil/pseuds/Author_of_evil
Summary: Tywin sends Jaime to the far-away island of Tarth after discovering his relationship with Cersei.Jaime finds ways to pass the time.





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

> The ages are probably wrong, don't @ me.
> 
> I have no patience or focus and I write like it.

Cersei pressed her whole body up against Jaime’s. The twins’ golden hair mixed together as their lips met.

‘Cersei’ Jaime whispered breathly, ‘not here, we have to be careful.’

Her response was to grab his ass and moan louder.

The door swung open. Tywin Lannister was never a man to knock first.

\---

'You will be a ward of Lord Selwyn Tarth. Some time away from your sister will serve you well. I do not want any rumours to start getting out. ’

'Tarth?! Tarth is a shit-covered rock on th-’

'That is why I am sending you there. I fought alongside Lord Selwyn on the Stepstones. There is no man in the realm more honest.’

‘What about my training? If I am to be your heir I must know how to fight.’

‘I will find someone in the capital willing to go to Evenfall Hall to train you. This is the last I will be hearing of your complaints.’

\---

House Tarth was waiting for him on the jetty as his ship glided into the harbour. Lord Selwyn’s breastplate gleamed in the midday sun, embossed with his house’s crest, quartered moons and suns. He was as tall as any man Jaime had seen bar Gregor Clegane, and his son looked to be following him in that regard. The boy couldn’t have been much more than a year older than him and yet he was already taller than most grown men. The two Tarth men shared easy smiles and short, straw-blond hair.

Behind them, in a ill-fitting dress, stood the most mannish girl Jaime had ever seen.

‘Lord Jaime, I am Lord Selwyn Tarth.’ boomed the towering man. ‘This is my son, Galladon,’ he gestured at the grinning youth ‘and my daughter, Brienne.’ 

The girl tried to shrink away, but her height made it hard for her to escape his gaze. She had brittle hair the colour of straw, a broken nose and deep, blue, blue eyes. Her face was littered with freckles, as were the strong arms her dress left on display.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Lord Selwyn.’

\---

The blunted point of Jaime’s sword pressed against Galladon’s throat.

‘I yield.’ He got up and dusted himself off. He was always good-humoured whenever Jaime beat him, which was every time. The young lord was strong and poised, but his reactions were always too slow to best his swifter friend. 

He had worried that he would find himself alone in a strange and far-away castle, but he could not have asked for a truer companion than Lord Selwyn’s heir. He was as good-natured in dealing with his father’s Western ward as he seemed to be in everything else. He was beloved by the servants of Evenfall Hall and the small town below, and especially by the serving girls, who would swoon every time he walked by.

‘You seem strangely used to being knocked into the dirt for a boy of your size.’ Jaime japed.

Galladon chuckled. ‘I’ve had practice. My sister’s been beating me since I was ten and two.’

He had seen the great beast of a girl mercilessly attacking the dummies in the yard and training with the castellan, but she was as graceless as the mule she resembled. He couldn’t see her besting her massive brother.

\---

At meals, Jaime chatted with Galladon at the end of the table, far from where his father could hear their discussion of the various low-born girls vying for the attention (and more besides) of the great youth. In recent moons, he had been forced to share the love of the maidens of Tarth with his new-found friend, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His sister, on the other hand, sat silently with her head down next to her septa, a tart-tongued snake of a woman named Roelle. She seemed to be perpetually miserable; the only time she looked alive was with a blade in her hands, striking with all the strength of her brother but far more speed. He had watched her training in the yard from his chamber, wielding a sword meant for men twice her age. She was like a she-bear, grunting with every swing but driving all her opponents around in circles until they were too tired to stop the powerful blows she rained down.

\---

Jaime went up to her while she was taking out her frustrations on a straw-filled mannequin.

‘Spar with me.’

The poor girl was seemed shocked. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. She stuttered for a moment before composing herself.

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’ 

For the first time that he had seen, she smiled. It was as bright as the sun on her family’s coat coat of arms.

\---

By the time Jaime had knocked Brienne onto her back, he was panting like a dog on a hot day, and his arm ached from her where he had blocked her powerful swings

‘You’re quite the wench, aren’t you?’ he said as he offered a hand to help her up.

She blushed a deep red and got up by herself.

‘Same time tomorrow?’

She nodded, and then turned her back to walk away.

\---

Galladon was a poor rider, but he was an enthusiastic sailor. He had a small boat that he would take out when the seas were calm and the winds high. Jaime had never had sea legs, and after half an hour of unburdening himself of his breakfast he decided that seafaring was a hobby that Galladon could pursue alone.

Without his tall companion, however, Jaime found himself running out of things to do. He had already cleaned and sharpened his sword, and three baths in a day would be a bit excessive, even by a Lannister’s decadent standards.

He was lying on his back on one of the tables in the feast hall, a room smaller than the servant’s mess back at Casterly Rock, and staring absent-mindedly at the tapestries when Brienne came over to him, her face already as red as an Arbor wine.

‘Sorry to uhh…’ she stumbled ‘you’ve been here a while, but you haven’t seen much of the island, and um, I thought, uh, now that Galladon’s off, um, sailing, you might want to come riding with me?’

Jaime swung himself off the table and looked at her. Her speech was stuttered and her cheeks red, but her sky blue eyes were full of hope.

_The rest of her face looks like it was hit with a shovel a few times, but I’m damned if those aren’t the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen._

‘It would be my pleasure.’


	2. The Sapphire Isle

Jaime munched on one of the meat pies they had brought in Brienne’s saddlebag and surveyed the view down to the sea. The hill valleys were full of wildflowers that thinned as they climbed the steep ridges. They were lying shoulder to shoulder on his horse blanket, their horses drinking from a cold, clear stream.

‘Nice island you have.’ Jaime remarked once he had finished stuffing the pie down his throat.

‘Thanks.’ Brienne replied shyly and blushed. 

It was far too easy to make the girl blush.

He took the chance to sensually lick the juice from his fingers, making eye contact with her the whole time, but she looked away before her cheeks turned anything more than a healthy shade of Lannister crimson.

Jaime jumped in before the silence between them could get awkward.

‘So tell me, why is a highborn maid such as yourself so fond of swords and mail?’

She scowled.

‘Do I look fair in dresses?’

Jaime saw another opportunity to tease her, and pounced.

‘True. You look far fairer in leathers.’

This time the blush was as as red as spilt blood.

\---

Cersei still sent him letters. She kept her feelings, at least, what wouldn’t be able to pass unremarked by a maester, to herself, but kept him up with the affairs of the Rock and what court gossip made it all the way across the Westerlands.

He didn’t always know how to feel when he got a letter.

Usually he was sad that he had been separated from his other half and sent to this far-off, windswept isle.

This time he was angry.

Eager to work out his anger with Brienne ( _she’s so much more fun to fight, Galladon is so predictable_ ), he found her, pulled her away from the embroidery she was botching, grabbed a pair of blunted swords and squared off.

She had him on the ground in four swings.

‘Jaime?’

She let the question hang in the air, as if she wasn’t sure what she had even asked.

‘Since that was so quick, I think we have time for another pass.’ Jaime forced a smile. They faced each other against, the dust of their last meeting still drifting through the cloistered courtyard.

This time it took her seven strokes.

‘Jaime… are you alright?’

He threw his sword at the wall so hard the clang made Brienne jump and stormed off.

\---

He hadn’t come to supper. He had pushed a wardrobe over the door to his chamber. Galladon had come to try and get him out, but Jaime stayed silent. After a few minutes he left, and Jaime was free to stew by himself.

It didn’t feel like a victory.

Eventually, as the sky was dimming and torches were being lit, another of Lord Tarth’s scion came knocking.

‘Jaime. Please.’

He was lying on his bed. The rage of the day had cooled into sorrow.

‘Please, Jaime. If I did anything, if I said anything, I want to say I’m sorry.’ Her voice was full of tears.

‘You didn’t do anything.’ 

The words were out before he knew had spoken them.

‘Then why…’ She choked on her words.

He dragged himself out of the bed and heaved the wardrobe away from the door. The squeal of wood on stone drowned out Brienne.

He opened the door and Brienne almost knocked him to the floor with a bear-hug.

‘I thought that… that…’ She gave up on words and just hugged him tighter.

Jaime noticed the press of her small, firm breasts against his chest.

She pulled away, almost embarrassed to have touched him in the first place.

‘A highborn maiden come to the chamber of a handsome young lord at night. Tch, and I thought you were the honourable type.’

Brienne half-choked, half-giggled, but then turned to look him straight in the eye.

‘You always jape when you don’t want to talk about something.’

‘Surprisingly enough, the thing I don’t want to talk about isn’t something I want to talk about.’

‘Jaime…’

They stared into each others’ eyes. Her eyes were blue, blue like the wild pansies on the slopes of Tarth, blue like its water, blue like the sapphires the island lacked.

When she spoke again it felt like being snapped out of a dream.

‘I only… I only realised how much I… how much… when you… I thought you hated me. I want you to...’ 

And then Evenfall Hall’s fiercest maiden turned and fled.


	3. Ser Alyx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Observant readers will realise that this is the second time I've uploaded a third chapter to this story. I deleted the previous one because it didn't fit the mood of the story I'm trying to tell. I hope you like this one better.

The master-of-arms that Lord Tywin had promised to send over a year ago finally arrived on Tarth on a morning where the dew made the grass of the hills shine like the sea. Ser Alyx Corway was the third son of a house whose castle in the Dornish marches was so small that it didn’t show up on any maps. Unimpressed with his meager home, the sinewy Stormlander had made a name for himself serving in the Golden Company across the Narrow Sea. Jaime was happy to have a proper instructor in arms again, but he wasn’t half as excited as Brienne, who listened wide-eyed to his tales of adventure in the great cities of the east over breakfast with the intentness of a cat focused on a particularly plump pigeon.

When they met in the yard, he found that she had weaseled her way out of her septa’s grip to watch from atop the bales of hay piled in the corner. Truth be told, he would have rather that she hadn’t, as his new master quickly put his technique to shame with a icy intensity that he had kept hidden under lazy jokes that morning. He was weaker than most, but seemed to be able to tell what Jaime would do before Jaime himself, and struck with a swiftness that a viper would envy.

After scant time Jaime found himself worn out. The marcher knight had found his diagonal parry wanting and had drilled it until his sides were covered in bruises.

“I’m going to get some water,” he announced once the dryness of his throat became unbearable. “Why don’t you work with Brienne for a while?” 

The former sellsword chuckled. “I’m afraid I was never very good at embroidery, although from the work I saw in the hall I don’t think I could be much worse than her.” Jaime winced. Brienne had pleaded with her father not to hang the deformed rendition of her house’s coat of arms in the hall, but if Lord Selwyn had one virtue in excess it was his pride in his children.

“For a man who claims to have defeated a Dothraki bloodrider in single combat you seem awfully scared of a maid of half your years.”

Another dry laugh. “Didn’t your father ever teach you not to hit women?”

Jaime looked over at Brienne. She was trying to keep a still face, but he could tell from the wobble at the corners of her mouth that she was hurt. She might be a dream of being a warrior, but her heart was so soft that it could be cut with a blunt butterknife.

The sight of her eyes slowly reddening was all it took to send Jaime into a twitching rage.

“You’ll train her for the rest of the day or my next letter home will tell my father you came to me stinking of wine and tried to take me to your bed.” He drew himself up to look him right in his eyes. “The fact that no high lord would let you within a league of their sons would be the least of your worries.”

Ser Alyx gave a shrug, as if he hadn’t really cared in the first place. “Alright, but if she goes running to her father with the bruises I’m telling him you gave them to her.”

\---

To the marcher’s credit, he forgot his reservations once he saw Brienne wielding a sword. Jaime returned to the training yard with a fresh skin of water to find him focused on her bladework, shouting advice over her grunts and the clash of their swords.

“Parry. Parry. Riposte.” Her blade found his chest. “Very good. Parry. Not like that, the movement should come from the wrist, not the shoulder. Yes, that’s better. Lunge.” She leapt at him and he deftly stepped back and whacked her exposed flank with the flat of his blade, hard enough that Jaime heard the sound of the air being knocked out of her lungs.

“Your feet were too close together. Footwork is the foundation of good swordplay. Your parries are excellent but you can’t capitalise on them because of how unbalanced you ripostes are.” Jaime could see the joy of being complimented on her bladework shine through her exhaustion and pain, but the knight’s stern face revealed nothing. “I want you to practice your lunge against the dummy until you’re too tired to hold the sword. Keep your feet shoulder width apart.”

He turned to Jaime. “It seems I was wrong about who should be sewing around here. Watch how she blocks low blows, that’s how you need to parry them.”

He didn’t need to look at her to know that she’d be blushing furiously.

\---

Galladon had gone with his father for a council of the stormlords at Storm’s End. He had offered to take Jaime, but the thought alone of crossing the rough seas between Tarth and the mainland had made him sick. The morning after their departure a familiar ship had pulled into Evenfall Town’s harbour. 

He bounded down to Brienne’s bedchamber and found her fast asleep, even with the sun beaming through the drapes. A strand of straw-blond hair in front of her nose fluttered with every exhalation.

_She looks so peaceful._

He shook her shoulder. “Brienne, wake up.”

She groaned softly. Her eyes prised themselves open.

When she saw his face she flinched so far back she fell out of the bed. 

“Jaime?! What, uh, what are you doing?”

He grinned wolfishly. Well, lionishly.

“There’s a boat at the harbour. I’ve seen it before at Lannisport, it’s from Asshai.”

Brienne blinked slowly, her eyes still bleary. “Septa Roelle says nought but sin comes from the east.”

Jaime’s smile got even wider.

“All the more reason to have a look.”


	4. The Ship from Asshai

The ship was made of a wood so black that it seemed to be from a different world to the blue waters and green hills it sat next to like a big sulky bear. Along the docks the sailors were getting to know the local customs, more specifically, the local mead. Jaime managed to get on board after loudly announcing his surname, peeking through the crates on board, much to Brienne’s embarrassment. He tried to convince her to try on a robe of silk that may as well have been made from the air itself for how light (and transparent) it was, but upon seeing her reluctance for dresses, one seamen, a Basilisk Islander by his look, popped to his feet.

‘A warrior maiden? I have just the thing for you,’ he exclaimed in broken Valyrian before disappearing into the ship’s hold like the monkeys of his homeland's jungles.

A few minutes later he appeared holding a bundle of rich sea-blue cloth. It unfurled like a banner as he handed it to Brienne. It was not quite a tunic and not quite a dress. The collar only dropped hintingly, and the skirt was short and split down the middle for movement, but it was plainly cut for a woman’s form.

‘The dress of the warrior women of Bayasabhad,’ he proclaimed, this time in thickly accented Westerosi.

Brienne didn’t take a second glance at it before she started fumbling for her purse.

Jaime placed his hand over hers to stop her.

‘Don’t bother. I’ll pay.’

\---

As they rode back to the castle they found a red priest preaching to the small group of commons who had gather around him the in the square to hear him talk about his strange god. He had lit a brazier behind him, and a crippled beggar had crawled up to him to feel the warmth.

‘You know, the red priests say that they can see the future in the flames.’ Jaime brought his horse to a halt. ‘I don’t see anything.’

Brienne stopped alongside him to gaze into the flames. He allowed himself a sidelong glance at her. She had been trying to conceal her joy at the dress, but now that she thought herself unwatched she let her joy play across her face.

He allowed himself a smile, as he stared at the dancing flames.

Suddenly his attention was torn back to Brienne with a blur of motion. He spun around to find that she had nearly fallen out of her saddle. She had barely steadied herself when she took off at a gallop up the hill to Evenfall Hall, her knuckles whitened by her panicked grip on the reins.

\---

Brienne wasn’t in her chamber, nor in any of her usual haunts. After searching till the light began to dim he found her huddled on the straw of the stables. She looked for an escape the moment her came in, and even finding none fought to avoid meeting his eyes.

‘Brienne.’

She chose as her response to put all her force of her being into sulking.

‘What happened?’

She tried to avoid saying anything, but he caught her chin and pushed her to look at him. Her eyes seemed to grow even wider as they met his.

He repeated himself. ‘Brienne.’

‘I, I…’ she swallowed. ‘I saw my future.’

She tried to shake his hand off but he put his other or her cheek.

‘What did you see?’

‘I was…’ She drifted off, shaking her head.

‘What did you see?’

She steeled herself before answering.

‘I saw myself, but it wasn’t me, I was old, and I was holding a babe in my arms, and there were two older ones there as well, a pretty young girl and a boy.’

‘Brienne!’ He grinned at her. ‘That’s wonderful! You’re going to marry and have beautiful children. Why were you so afraid?’

‘Because… I saw, um, there was the... my husband.... He…’ she gave up and started crying.

He gingerly patted her. ‘I know you want to be a knight. But it won’t be so bad. You’ll have your children, and your lord husband.’

She wiped the tears away with a sleeve. ‘That’s not it. My husband, he was… he would never...’ she choked on a sob. ‘I looked so happy, but it can’t happen, it’s not going to.’ She swallowed, trying to regain her usual mettle. 

‘I’m going to be a knight. Not a lady. The flames probably lied, Septa Roelle says the red priests are demon worshippers anyway.’

She stood up, and walked out of the stable, leaving Jaime even more confused than before.


End file.
